


In the Shadow of the Throne

by Defira



Series: Kink in the Armor [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-20 21:38:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2444075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Defira/pseuds/Defira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As part of the Kink in the Armour writing relay, I was given the sixth prompt: Inappropriate use of the Skyhold Throne</p><p>The mantle of leadership can be lonely indeed- it is a fact that Cullen is well acquainted with after years as the public face of the templars in Kirkwall, and he knows the toll it can have on a person. When he encounters his new commanding officer, Geralt Trevelyan, burdened with the weight of his responsibilities, he cannot help but want to set his mind at ease.</p><p>[Featuring leviathanbones' Geralt, as both a birthday present and as a thank you for moderating the challenge for us. Thank you!]</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Shadow of the Throne

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skyjacklegion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyjacklegion/gifts).



The great hall was wreathed in darkness, his footsteps hollow and echoing as he crossed the empty space. The sound rang all the way to the vaulted ceiling, far louder than he would have liked, the _thump-clang_ of his armoured boots almost sinister in the darkness. The repairs were still underway to make Skyhold a suitable base of operations for this mad endeavour, and so there were no candles to light his path- only the moonlight where it crept through the dust-caked windows behind the throne. 

So it was that he didn’t realise he wasn’t alone in the hall until almost the last moment, his eyes adjusting to the gloom far too slowly- the lyrium headaches, he blamed them for his wavering vision most days- and his startled squawk of alarm when the shadows on the throne moved slightly was...

... well. The Inquisition had enemies around every corner, so it was hardly his fault that his nerves were frayed to such a fine edge. 

He dropped the maps he’d been carrying, the parchment whispering in the darkness and the bone scroll casings clattered noisily against the tiled floor. Soft laughter rang around him as he crouched hurriedly to gather up his things, face burning and heart hammering painfully in his throat. 

“I didn’t mean to startle you, General,” came a deep voice from within the shadows, the darkness slowly resolving into shapes, and then familiar features. The Inquisitor himself, the great Geralt Trevelyan, sat sideways in his throne of office, legs dangling over the arm of the chair and his marked hand pressed against his belly to mask the tell-tale green glow of his gift. It was hard to tell in the muddy darkness of the hall, but he looked... tired. 

Swallowing down the panic that had lodged in his throat, Cullen stood again with his precious maps clutched to his chest clumsily. “Apologies, ser, I was not-” He fumbled to a stop, then tried again. “Was there something I can do for you?”

The same quiet chuckle sounded again, but hearing it again made it abundantly clear that there was no joy in the sound. The creak of leathers as Geralt shifted in the throne was the only answer for long, awkward moments, and then he sighed. “No, Cullen,” he said finally. “There is nothing I would ask of you now.”

His answer was peculiar, because it was not precisely the answer to the question Cullen had asked. He cleared his throat. “Were you... using the hall, ser? I can arrange for lighting-”

“Do I _look_ like I’m using the hall, Cullen, or do I look like I’m hiding?” 

He said it bitterly, almost mockingly, as if fully aware of his own infallibility and ashamed of it. The moment startled Cullen, taken aback by the stark honesty of it, and he blurted out the question before he could help himself. “Why would you hide here?”

“Because nobody would think to look for me in a place where I don’t want to be even during the daylight hours,” he said, forced cheer in his voice. He huffed out a breath, a sound that was probably supposed to convey humour and yet only suggested at weariness and frustration. 

Cullen hesitated. “Is everything alright, Inquisitor?” 

He groaned, rubbing aggressively at his eyes, as if he hoped to scratch away memories that still clung to the inside of his eyelids. “Please don’t call me that,” he mumbled, a sense of hopelessness in the way he lay listlessly across the throne. “Just... let me be a person instead of a title for tonight.”

The silence between them bled into the darkness, and when Cullen fidgeted uncomfortably the soft clink of his armour sounded awkwardly loud in the emptiness. 

Geralt’s sigh, when it came, was blurred somewhere between frustration and weariness. “I’m sorry, ignore my maudlin stupidity. Don’t let me keep you from your duties.”

It was probably the more sensible suggestion- keep walking and forget, forget this moment of loneliness and vulnerability- but for some reason Cullen found himself hesitating, his feet itching to move closer. He knew the weight of such loneliness, intimately so after his years in Kirkwall, and that murky mix of anger and helplessness was familiar to him indeed. 

“You need not go about this alone, ser- er, Geralt. We are all here to support you, in whatever capacity we can.”

“Ah, but you are all here for the Inquisitor, are you not? How many of you came for the person behind the accolades?”

Cullen frowned. “That is hardly a fair question,” he said. “None of us knew you prior to joining your banner- yet I do not doubt that every single one of those men and women in the field fights in your name, not in the name of the Inquisition. Just because they came seeking the stories does mean they do not stay because of the man behind them.”

Geralt shifted uncomfortably, considering his words. “And what of you, Cullen?”

“Beg pardon?”

He waited, but Geralt did not answer; he cleared his throat instead, confused by his silence. “I of course am happy to serve you in whatever capacity you see fit, ser.”

Geralt barked out a laugh, genuine surprise in the sound. “And of course the person to happen upon me in my most pathetic moment would happen to be the person whose opinion I crave more than any.”

Cullen felt his stomach flip about abruptly. “Ser?”

Geralt groaned and covered his face with both hands. “Maker, please don’t tell me you’re that dense that I have to spell it out for you,” he mumbled from between his fingers. “I _like_ you Cullen- and yes, I do mean that in the most embarrassingly awkward way possible, because somehow it wouldn’t be right if I wasn’t making a fool of myself in the process.”

The darkness of the hall was quite suddenly a blessing, because Cullen’s face grew so hot that he knew that had there been light, he would have had no chance at hiding the blush that overtook him now. “I...” His voice cracked and he snapped his mouth shut in alarm, swallowing several times to recover himself. “I had no idea.”

“I’ll make sure to uproot some unsuspecting flowers next time I’m out, as a means to express my pathetic pining.”

There was a measure of self loathing and mockery in his tone that took Cullen aback. “That is...” He hesitated, not sure precisely what it was he wanted to convey. “You are not pathetic.”

Geralt chuckled, hardly amused. “You are kind to lie,” he said, his leathers creaking again as he swung himself around in the chair and leaned forward, his head pressed into his hands while his elbows rested on his knees. “But if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to continue with my wallowing right now.”

Cullen stared at him, a dark and lonely shape in the darkness, and he felt something in him stretch out in yearning- a desire to lift his spirits or soothe him or encourage him, he could not say precisely. But he found himself stooping to lay his collection of maps on the floor, the parchments whispering against the stone as he slowly straightened. Geralt did not look up until Cullen had come to a stop before him, leaning back with agonising slowness as he settled back in the chair, his gaze travelling the length of him.

There was nothing sexual in that look, but there was an intimacy to it that left him rather breathless- he felt stripped bare, raw and exposed in a way he had not been expecting. He did not know what had possessed him to creep closer in the first place, but now that he was here, he felt like he had to do _something_. Anything, if only to confirm to Geralt that he was not alone in this, that there were people who cared.

That _he_ cared.

Geralt surprised him by holding out his hand, and Cullen took it, thinking he meant for him to pull him to his feet, so that they might leave the cold empty hall and find a better place to continue their conversation. Instead, Geralt tugged on his hand and Cullen overbalanced, tumbling forward into his lap. 

For a moment it was a confusing jumble of hands and limbs, and Cullen’s awkward attempts to extract himself only eventuated in him flailing backwards until he was seated rather haphazardly on Geralt’s lap. 

His knee was bony and not exactly comfortable, and Cullen wobbled for a moment as he fought to gain his balance. He grabbed a little suddenly at Geralt’s shoulder, afraid of toppling backwards, and the other man laughed gently, the sound genuine for once. “A little unsteady there, Cullen?”

Cullen’s cheeks warmed again. “I can’t say this is a situation I find myself in all that often,” he said, awkwardly settling on Geralt’s lap. The green glow of Geralt’s hand gave them just the faintest illumination, and in the pale light he could see the weariness in his eyes, the lines of hopelessness around his mouth that had not been there several months ago. And despite his teasing tone a moment earlier, there was a tension in him, a wariness, as if he was waiting for Cullen to climb to his feet and sneer in his face and stomp away while laughing. 

Instead, he reached up hesitantly to his face, his fingers hanging for a long moment in the air beside his cheek, before ever so gently brushing against his stubbled chin. 

Geralt’s eyes were hooded, and he was so tense beneath his fingers that it was a wonder he wasn’t vibrating. “I’m not made of glass,” he said abruptly, the sound of his voice startling Cullen out of the intensity of the moment. “I won’t break if you touch me.”

Cullen licked his lips, and saw Geralt’s gaze fall to his mouth. “This was not my intention,” he said, fingers tracing slowly along the curve of his cheek. 

Taking a shaky breath, Geralt asked “What are your intentions now?” 

“Maker only knows,” he said, taking a shuddering gasp when Geralt’s hand ran up the inside of this thigh. 

“Mm,” Geralt said, leaning forward until Cullen was certain he meant to kiss him; instead, he all but curled into him, burying his face beneath his chin and pressing his face into his neck. Cullen felt him breathe in deeply, and it sent a shivering spike of desire down his spine. “At least that makes one of us, then.”

His heart was hammering in his chest as he felt Geralt’s lips against his neck; it was not a kiss, not exactly, but it made him shudder all the same. His hand was still on his cheek, now an awkward angle, so it felt a little more natural to let his fingers run around to his hair, threading loosely through the darkened curls against his neck. 

Of course that had the additional benefit of making it seem like he was pulling him further into him, cradling Geralt’s head as he nuzzled into the space where his leathers exposed his skin. Not intentional, of course, he was just trying to be... efficient?

He had no idea what he was trying to be, actually.

At some point, he’d become aware of Geralt’s cock growing hard beneath him, and his own pants had become almost painfully uncomfortable as well. When Geralt’s hand swept up the inside of his thigh again, he whimpered and jerked his hips in surprise, biting into his lip when he felt the laces on his breeches loosening. He buried his face for a moment in Geralt’s hair, breathing heavily in anticipation, unable to give voice to the desperate pleading he felt rising within him. 

Geralt was pressed tightly against him, his mouth moving against his neck- he could not tell if they were silent words of his own, struggling to express his own desires, or whether they were meant to be taken as kisses, open mouthed and clumsy against the stubble. 

There wasn’t really a reason to care which it was, at this point. 

When Geralt’s fingers tugged him awkwardly from the confines of his pants, he hissed his appreciation against his hair, the sound trailing away to a groan as Geralt closed his hand around his cock. His fingers were calloused after years as a soldier, but he was gentle now as he squeezed, his palm rough and his grip sure. 

Panting, Cullen kept his eyes closed as he reached down between them, his goal far more difficult than Geralt’s had been. But Geralt aided him, shifting awkwardly beneath him so that he had a better angle to fumble with the laces of his breeches. He felt Geralt chuckle hoarsely, the sound rumbling through the both of them, and it became a whimper as Cullen took his cock in his hand. 

Still neither of them said anything, for there wasn’t really anything to say at this point- there was only the sigh and moan of their breathing, the rhythmic squeak of their leathers as they bumped against one another. It was better to feel, not to think, not to make it more awkward than it already was by filling the space with words. 

Cullen moaned, breathing in the scent of him, pressing his mouth to the top of his head in something that might vaguely be called a kiss, but could also just have been an attempt to muffle his cries. Anyone could walk in on them- it was not so late in the evening that there weren’t still people about in the halls, and if anyone should come looking for them, well...

It would be difficult to explain their current entanglement, for sure. 

He felt Geralt tighten beneath him, felt the way he gasped shallowly against his neck as he pressed upwards; he felt the familiar heat spill across his hand as Geralt shuddered, and he kept up the rhythm until he was certain that he was reached his completion. He felt his own crest fast approaching, and a moment later he was crying out, not as controlled in his pleasure as Geralt had been. He jerked upwards, the spasm shuddering through him as he came into Geralt’s hand. 

And then they were still, panting softly into the darkness, Geralt slumped against his chest and Cullen drooped on top of his shoulder, both with their hands around each other’s cocks and both slowly coming back to their senses. 

Cullen squeezed his eyes tightly shut, as if simply wishing himself away from here would be enough to avoid the awkward aftermath of their odd liaison. 

“I don’t really... do that... often...”

Geralt laughed hoarsely. “Oh thank the Maker,” he said, desperate relief in his voice. “That was rather out of character for me, too. I didn’t really know how to bring it up.”

“So, this was...?”

From a breast pocket, Geralt procured a square of linen with his initials embroidered roughly in the corner, and carefully wiped his hand clean; after a moment, he held it out to Cullen, an embarrassed cough in place of an offer to help. Taking the hint and the handkerchief, Cullen cleaned himself up as best as he could, sitting awkwardly in place with a cum-stained bit of cloth in his hands a moment later. It wasn’t like he could just hand it back to him for Geralt to tuck merrily into this pocket again. 

“This was... something,” Geralt said hesitantly, taking the offending piece of linen from him and tossing it into the darkness of the hall behind the throne. “We can just leave it at that for now, if you’d prefer.”

There was a wistful tone in his voice that he didn’t hide fast enough, and Cullen swallowed nervously. “And, if it was more than something, but... this wasn’t necessarily a regular occurrence, you would be... alright with that?”

Geralt was silent for the longest time, long enough for Cullen to begin to panic that he had overstepped himself and guessed incorrectly at his feelings. Just when he was about to blurt out a panicked apology, he felt Geralt breathe a shuddering sigh against him. “I would really like.... er, appreciate that. Like that. Yes. That.” 

He glanced up at Cullen, making eye contact for the first time since this foolishness had begun, and Cullen took the risk- he leaned in and kissed him quickly, just once, a brief touch of his lips against his. He leaned back, expecting to see the reprimand and disgust on Geralt’s face already, but he just looked... relieved.

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. Except, maybe somewhere more private next time.”


End file.
